


Talking Body

by fridaysblues (taemin)



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Come Marking, Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taemin/pseuds/fridaysblues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just some shameless late-night grinding. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Talking Body

Taemin's impatient, and he's sick of Jongin taking his sweet time, fingering him so slowly it's like he's sleepwalking through it. Each thrust of his curving fingers down to the knuckle and back again takes a lifetime, the sweet drag of it, and Taemin just wants to come already because it's _four o'clock in the fucking morning_ and they've both got to be up at an indecent hour.

Jongin's hand falls away to the tangled bedsheets beneath them. That's Taemin's cue. He reaches back and lines himself up, letting gravity do most of the work. It's not like Jongin is contributing much to the effort right now except for a stiff cock and a wet mouth attached to Taemin's throat, kissing it with teeth and tongue, sloppy and eager. Taemin's body shifts into position and Jongin relents, canting his hips upward barely a fraction, just enough movement to catch Taemin and seat himself deep inside, bodies as close as they can be.

Taemin loves being full of Jongin, but his sense of urgency to come feels pretty one-sided at the moment, and that's _just_ annoying enough to want to change tactics. Tonight's not going to be straight to the point _fuck for five minutes-come-pass out_ , even if they're both bone-tired and really should be taking the opportunity to get some rest right now.

He's already supporting most of his weight on his forearms so it's easy to lean forward just far enough that Jongin slips out of him, wet, leaving a streaky trail of lube down Taemin's thigh. He thrusts fruitlessly for a moment up Taemin's backside, chasing him, swearing quietly under his breath.

"Sorry, sorry," Jongin whispers, eyes _still_ closed, his hand already searching for his cock to bring them back together. But Taemin squirms just out of reach, leaning forward a little more, and that, more than anything, gets Jongin's attention. He cracks open an eye, and even a sliver of Jongin's focus burns, sending a pink flush speckling up the expanse of Taemin's chest.

"Hi." He grins.

"Are we doing this?" Jongin croaks, voice tight with arousal. "I don't—"

"Yes. Just—let me—try—something." Taemin seats himself back on Jongin's thighs, knees bracketing Jongin's hips, just close enough for friction, rocking away every time Jongin tries to fuck upward and ends up slipping past his asshole instead. Jongin groans softly, but his next kiss is halfway through a smile, a wheezy, exasperated half-laugh that sounds a lot like Taemin's name.

"Ah, shit, Taemin," Jongin rumbles, his voice more breath than tone. His lips are still searching for that patch of skin behind Taemin's ear, breathing humid and fast. It's too much to keep his eyes open, each minute shift of his hips back against the tip of Jongin's wet cock slicking up his asscrack, teasing, making real a mess of everything. Taemin's sticky from his thighs all the way to the small of his back, a combination of sweat and jizz and lube that's starting to mat in the coarse curls of his pubic hair.

Jongin's hands, his beautiful slender fingers, deliberately mapping every muscle in Taemin's back with the pads of his fingertips, holding his waist, then skimming down to cup his ass so tenderly. He's getting into the rhythm of things now. He spreads Taemin's asscheeks wide and pushes his cock up between them, completely changing gears, he's game to grind it out if Taemin is, and Taemin _is_ , but oh—it's a different kind of denial than Jongin's fingers. Each blunt push against his ass that goes nowhere feels like the worst kind of anticipation and Taemin loves it but he also really, really fucking hates it, because it means his satisfaction will be delayed and unpredictable. It's always worth it at the end, but this part—this part always makes him rethink starting these games with Jongin. 

Taemin doesn't know who's winning this one. Jongin's twisting underneath him, hands still gripping hard at the slope of Taemin's inner thighs, spreading him wider still. He's shamelessly using Taemin, rubbing his slippery cock against Taemin's body—the seam of his ass, his balls, then back again. Taemin's cock bounces heavily against Jongin's stomach with each push, dark at the tip and welling with fluid. His hand finds it, weight transferring to a splayed palm on the headboard, leaving him free to jerk himself since Jongin's _clearly_ not going to put his hands on him tonight.

Taemin's so familiar with the workings of Jongin's body that he knows the subtle signs—the tightening of his thigh muscles, his groin, the sharp fuck upwards—and then Jongin comes, messy and long. The soft, warm spatter of jizz on the small of his back is what does it, or maybe it's Jongin's face right after he comes—yes, that smile, right there, where he never looks happier—either way, Taemin follows, groaning, catching most of it with his hand only to spread it across Jongin's chest with a cheery smile, fingerpainting with it, the outline of a heart, and then, after a moment of deliberation, he adds his name. _태민_. Jongin doesn't slap his hand away even though he probably wants to.

"You're disgusting," Jongin says instead, still out of breath.

"I'm your favorite." And Taemin knows that's what Jongin means to say, even if he'll complain about it in the morning and blame Taemin for the extra laundry. He'll complain, but he's capable of getting up and going to the bathroom for a washcloth, and he never, ever does. Not even as it starts to dry on his chest, leaving a stiff, shiny patch of skin marked with Taemin's name right over his left nipple. Taemin, too, completely filthy with come and lube and sweat, wet between his legs all the way to his hips—he stays. Despite the mess, he's too comfortable to go anywhere, so he doesn't.

Besides, he's already drifting off. He has the presence of mind to butt his nose against Jongin's mouth, idly noting the faint stubble coming in on his top lip. He'd give him shit about it but he can't seem to make his tongue work. Jongin settles his weight over Taemin, heavy and sure, and even though the windows are brightening to a muted, dawn grey through the gaps in the curtains, they sleep.


End file.
